


The Broken Strings

by TheTrashMonster



Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Adoption, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Laurel died during childbirth, Relationship might happen, searching for family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashMonster/pseuds/TheTrashMonster
Summary: Maybe he never had to explain, maybe he could tie the broken strings together, maybe he could try and fix things. Even after so much time had passed. Even after 16 years.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	The Broken Strings

They say time heals all wounds. 

What once left your chest aching with pain, made it feel like it was on fire and as if you couldn't breathe, would eventually fade away until it was nothing more but a soft, lingering annoying feeling in the back of your head. One that would come and poke you here and there, making you remember again exactly what had happened and made sure to make the idea creep in your head that it was still there. No matter how much time passed. It was still there.

Sixteen years. Was sixteen years enough to make the aching stop? To have this burning sensation only be reduced to nothing more than an annoyance here and there?   
No. Not for Wilden, even if he liked to pretend it had been. In fact, it felt as if it had only grown and grown over these years.   
His hand brushed through his bedhair, combing it into a quick messy quiff.   
Sometimes he didn't even recognise himself. Who was that man he was staring at, in the mirror?   
It had been just a glimpse of himself, one he had been good to fake after that day when his life changed for good. How much longer could he take it?

The thing is, how would he be able to tell it? What happened that night, so many years ago? Would it be understood, or, wouldn't it, ever? Things never felt the same for Wilden ever since that night Laurel died, and then there was that other guilt he had to live with forever. Something that made the fire and ache in his chest grow more severe, made his head burn with anxiety and anticipation of the unknown. How would he explain?

Maybe he never had to explain, maybe he could tie the broken strings together, maybe he could try and fix things. Even after so much time had passed.  
It was never too late for that, right? If they loved him, they would understand, right?  
Wilden's face burned with determination as he was driving up to the building, one that he had been driving up to for a while now, but never dared to actually enter. Every time he got close, he drove off again. He was a coward. He used to be. For sixteen years. 

Walking down to the front door of the building, he felt his body shivering from anticipation, but once he closed the door behind him he could feel this anxiety wash away from him. Eyes stared at the older blue elf, eyes he could exclude from his quest, others not so much.  
Was he here? Right now? He could see young orcs, merfolk, imps. A few elves too. But was it him?   
Wilden gave a few smiles as he walked towards one of the tables, especially the ones that had some young elves sitting at it. His eyes scanned the room, his ears turning to try and catch some of the already existing conversations.   
"No, I haven't found her yet, sadly. I have put all the info up from what I know of her, as well as my birth information... So far she hasn't reached out..."  
Wilden cracked his knuckles out of nervousness, looking around before his eyes fell on a slender frame who had just sat down by a small group of elves; his eyes seemed to smile towards the person he was talking to as his dark blue curly hair bounced in the air, leaning forward. Wilden held his breath as he watched from the distance.

Pain never stopped. Not if you inflicted it upon yourself, a domino effect of bad decisions whose weight was still affecting you years later.  
Laurel died. That was true.  
But what he had been telling Barley, about his brother dying during childbirth, had been a lie. The truth about that evening so many years ago was that he couldn't bare to look at him. That little face, his little sounds. Even his presence. Wilden couldn't bear it, he couldn't even look at him back then. The only faint memory he had of that little baby that evening that had killed his wife were those soft, wide eyes, those golden eyes. 

_And they were staring straight at him right now from across the room._


End file.
